Less of You, More of Me
by wooooooooooxj
Summary: Minute crickets descend on soft ears and tongues; secrets hoping to fall from them like the well of sunken memories: that once said is never enough, can never be taken back. Who are you, to speak so loudly? .hack/G.U. & real world/The World; no explicit pairings.


A/N: Welcome, all~ Whether you're new to my pen or a long-time follower, I'd like to say thank you for picking this up, and I hope I can live up to your expectations as a storyteller (and Huzzah! I'm not dead yet). That said,

Warning: annoyingly difficult vocabulary, unpopular ideas, future trollings, implicit/explicit ideas (goes with the trolling), and lots of allusions.

* * *

"I am words, I am speaking

I never heard my conclusion

Lost in my confusion

In illusion

Lost inside the picture frame"

_-"The Black Flame"_ by Renaissance

The summer heat bristled on the frozen classroom. Another day of homework, another night to hang out with friends. Students shuffled out towards the exits amid yelling horns and amoebas of friendship.

"Ryou! Chigusa!" A warm voice called from the school gate. The sweet scent of honeysuckle was swathed on a white blouse and black school-skirt. Shino Nano, welcoming the teenagers in the pirouetting heat. Chigusa ran, throwing her arms around the college-student as Misaki managed to catch up.

A temperate smile. "Ready to walk home?"

"Yes!" Chigusa chirps.

"Hm." Ryou softly grunts.

The trio makes their way to the edge of the school; crossing the busy intersection and feeling the hurried heat rush their backs from the passing cars in this urban ocean.

It had been a few weeks after AIDA's destruction; the few good particles attaching themselves on isolated terminals, curiously interested in the bygone relics . . . And cost insurance companies billions when they stopped using yellow for "festive" red and green stoplights during the holidays. Whenever asked about it, Ryou would wail like a banshee over his beloved sports car.

Anyway, they banded together – with or without a car – because they lived along the same path. All it took was a little Google mapping on Ryou's part to have him offer a ride to the older lady, which led to daily conversations about the other's day and covert aspirations. He still hadn't cracked her mask, but Ryou knew it was comprehendible; bit by bit, day by day. The efforts were filched by Aida, long-winded parents, and loose lips – namely, his. As soon as Chigusa saw her boyfriend aloof and late, she stole the answer from his lips and fell into a walking rhythm.

"Besides," Chigusa puffed "it'll be good exercise!"

So, one by one, they walked home. Chigusa first, with a spritely "see you both tomorrow!" Misaki and Nano lived nearby, in apartments within a block of each other. Ryou had only seen her turn where her complex was. Even after a week of asking and years online as friends, he had yet to see where she lived. He didn't worry. "Ovan," he was told, "lives nearby," and Nano is a capable college student. It was a good part of town; prosperous, ripe with life's celebrations and a welcoming scent from every coffee-house.

"I guess this is farewell." The smaller one breathed.

"'Till tomorrow." The other one returned.

Smiling, Shino turned; walking on to her apartment.

Ryou languished the steps, preparing himself for a busy night of homework, The World, dinner, and cleaning his haphazard apartment.

* * *

Shino cut across the apartment towards the ally. The wind spun around her, urging her feet forward as daydreams trailed across the sky. She had a bit farther to go, aching legs braced as the wind kept trying to give her a piggy-back ride. Funny how she thought she'd be used to the extra exercise. A quick glance through the dirt, and she remembered where she needed to be. She made a left to the supermarket for dinner. "Let's see . . ." she hummed. A light 'dink' like the sound of a xylophone as the door greeted her; "beef bullion, leeks, onion. . ." Eyebrows knotted. "Oh. And more milk." Traversing the fresh produce, she found the leek and onion on sale, as predicted.

* * *

Stubborn fingers trail across the miniature keyboard on Chigusa's phone, dancing between webpages for another finger's touch. She knew the pattern: personal email, The World mail, and group chat. It took her weeks of searching, but she managed to find a job she could do before school without her parents knowing. God forbid they would realize; they always knew when something was askew, and she wasn't the best at keeping secrets. Fingertips keep hitting glass, waiting for the one letter she knows must be today.

"Come on, I really need someone today."

A slight rustle, her father enters the room.

"Oh, hello father . . ." A slight lit in her voice. "Can I offer you tea or the newspaper?" She shifts to the edge of the table, trying to keep her smile light, as her mother taught her. 'Come on, send me out of the room. . .'

"Sure. I want a beer."

"Okay!" Her hands fall to her sides, and her legs waltz out of the room past the cup-board. Quickly, she yanked the phone from her waistband, staring at the familiar screen. "Where are you?"

"Chigusa! If you make your husband wait, he won't be a patient as your dad!"

Freezing, the teen stashed the phone between the mattresses in her room.

"Coming!"

* * *

A bedraggled form wound its way home. Crushed onion stank in the setting sun, mixing with the tangy scent of milk that came from the outfit hung on a form like wires. A marble face held eyes darkened for the white sun, numbed by the black filth surrounding it, lips choking around mutinous words. Cars moved apart from the figure in their own patterns, movement only felt underfoot through unmoving eyes and immobile exteriors. Every gust of wind slapped the figure, exposing the wiry joints under the all-too familiar uniform. They kept moving, a flight without daring or family; never letting the first chink of humanity cry to the melting sun in winged contraptions. Slowly, the figure wobbled to a ramshackle housing complex, placing the key and unlocking the door, and falling onto it. Porcelain joints poisoned from their touch, crackling, hurting for what she was; hurting for the society that watched her wings melt away before God.

She isn't Shino Nano.

Shino never existed.


End file.
